


Eddie and Beverly's Psych Project

by CieraDarlene



Series: The Losers Club (Modern College AU) [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), College AU, Eddie and Bev are 20 but still underage, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Modern AU, Richie plays hockey and it's self indulgent as fuck, Underage Drinking, barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CieraDarlene/pseuds/CieraDarlene
Summary: And so Eddie and Beverly end up at one of the player’s frat house, being handed beers. Eddie actually hates beer, but he drinks it anyway because he’s not about to be the sober man out. Eddie sits with Beverly in the living room, and watches as people wander into the house and immediately ruffle Richie’s hair, and smack his ass - a practice Eddie never understood personally. A bunch of heterosexual dudes smacking one another’s ass, in some weird way to say “Hey, atta boy!” Weird.





	Eddie and Beverly's Psych Project

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm just going to haphazardly toss one-shots into this modern college AU. Assume that none of them know each other. The fics also don't always work in succession, they'll just go wherever the fuck. Anyway enjoy.

It’s likely that there’s nothing more disgruntling than being awoken in the middle of the night by thunderous knocking at your door; Especially when you aren’t expecting it. Though the feeling is fleeting when you recall that you’re 20 and your best friend has no concept for time. 

 

The sound swims in Eddie sleep-hazed mind, trying to find it’s way to any part that’s concious enough to process it. Once it does, he half groans as he sits up. He can make out the shadow of feet in the light of the hallway at the base of the door. 

 

After Eddie’s dorm-mate hisses at him to get the door, tagging on that it’s one in the morning, he rolls out of bed to open the door to the aforementioned best friend, Beverly Marsh. She grins at him, and points out that he looks like shit.  _ It’s one in the goddamn morning _ , he snaps back at her. It’s not unusual for Beverly to drop into his dorm past the allotted hours. Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes past her, heading toward the common space kitchen. Beverly sighs, feeling Eddie’s irritation sit in the air, but follows.

 

Eddie hoists himself up onto the counter and rubs the exhaustion out of his eyes that never seems to leave. The dim light that hangs over the bar counters feels like it’s burning his corneas, his eyes cope by trying to squint shut.

 

“What is it?” Eddie mumbles, not entirely convinced he even cares.

 

Beverly sits on the bar stool on the other end of the counter, flopping her thin arms over the counter, leaning across towards Eddie. “I was at a hockey game, and I went out for drinks after with some of the team -”

 

“This couldn’t wait til morning?” Eddie cuts her off.

 

“It is morning.” Beverly retorts, quickly.

 

Cue eye roll, which also happens to be Beverly’s cue to continue.

 

“So my one psych class has us paired with student athletes for like sports psychology or something, blah blah, anyway,” she says, waving her hand around in the air. “I got paired with a hockey player-”

 

“Is he hot?” Eddie cuts her off yet again, hopping down to get a glass of water.

 

Beverly groans. “Yes, Eddie, he’s hot.” 

 

“Name?” 

 

“Richie. Can I finish now, or are you going to keep interjecting?”

 

Eddie raises his hands in surrender. He kind of tunes out as Beverly goes on to detail the game, then the bar visit after. He takes a moment to point out she’s only 20, then asking how she got in.  _ Fake I.D, unsurprising, keep up, Kaspbrak _ . And with that, he’s back to zoning out, inspecting his glass of water which has become  _ much _ more interesting than listening to Beverly ramble about their college hockey team at one in the morning. 

 

“Anyway,” Beverly says, hopefully signaling the end of this conversation. “I have to go to another game, because I still have to take notes. I was thinking you should come with.” Beverly says, flashing her best smile in a hope to convince Eddie.

 

Eddie lets out a boisterous laugh. “Me? At a sporting event? Nice one, really.”

 

“Come on, Eddie,  _ please _ .” Beverly clasps her hands across the counter, in an attempt to plead.

 

“No!” Eddie laughs out, throwing his head back.

 

“The players are hot! You can come gawk while I take notes. Please!”

 

“Hot.” Eddie nods in agreement, but then eyes her, raising an accusing finger. “And straight.” He points out.

 

“You don’t know that!”

 

Eddie chuckles. “Come on Beverly. No athlete is anything  _ but _ straight.”

 

“I played soccer and I’ve kissed  _ several _ girls.” Beverly rolls her eyes.

 

“Allow me to rephrase.” Eddie sighs. “No dude athlete is anything but straight. It’s not shocking that any girl in sports has definitely fooled around with at least one other girl in her time.”

 

“Oh my god, for a gay dude you’re so fucking ignorant. You’re coming and that’s final. As punishment for being a fucking dumbass.” Beverly says, standing.

 

“If I agree, can I go to bed?”

 

“You can’t agree or disagree because I’m making you regardless.”

 

And so Eddie winds up in the stands of the college rink, standing for the anthem, but most of his attention is on the player at centre ice, helmet off, unleashing a wild mane of hair, the name on his jersey reading “Tozier”. The players had already spent about 10 minutes in a warm up before they all lined up on the blue line to take their helmets off for the anthem that sounded out over the mediocre sound system. 

 

About 5 seconds left, and players start smacking their sticks on the ice, not even waiting for the anthem to properly finish before they start putting their helmets back on. Richie - was that his name? Eddie can’t remember, but he decides to stick with it - Richie’s hair is long enough to stick out the bottom of his helmet, dusting his maroon jersey just above the embroidered letters of his last name. 

 

Richie takes off to take a quick lap around the back of the net, smacking his goalie’s left pad with his stick before skating to centre, lining up.

 

Throughout the entire game, Eddie is hopelessly lost. Large men, flying at top speeds on blade shoes, slamming into one another and trying to handle a small rubber chunk with sticks? A disaster. Beverly wasn’t taking many notes, but she’d cheer on cue with the rest of the crowd. Eddie tried, but couldn’t get over the hurdle of feeling ridiculous because he never knew what he was cheering for in the first place.

 

It’s then that Richie somehow manages to break out of their defensive end, and past the other team’s two defensmen. It’s just him and the goalie. Eddie feels some sense of excitement because  _ this  _ he can understand. Richie’s far ahead enough that he slows a bit, about 15 feet from the goalie now. He swings his stick out to the left, carrying the puck with just the tip of the stick blade, scoops the puck up and it flies up. The puck hits the bar of the net with a loud ting and rebounds into the net. Richie throws his arms up, turning to be enveloped in a group hug with the rest of the players on the ice. 

 

Eddie returns to his regularly scheduled program of not knowing what the fuck is going on for the next period and a half. Until somehow, in a flurry of events, Richie ends up in a fight on the ice. It’s over about as quickly as it starts, referees rushing in to break the two up, but not until Richie lands about two solid left hooks, and takes a right hook himself. The ordeal earns him an ejection, and as he leaves the ice, he harshly slams his stick against the gate.

 

After the game, Beverly finds Richie in the lobby of the arena, his bag thrown haphazardly on the floor. As Beverly comes into his vision, he grins and stands.

 

“Gingersnap!” He beams.

 

Nicknames? Didn’t they just meet?

 

He throws an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into a lazy hug. “Enjoy the game?” 

 

“Yea, nice goal.” Beverly says, gently punching his arm. 

 

He winks. Then he moves his gaze to look at Eddie. “Who’s this?” He asks her.

 

“This is my friend, Eddie. I made him come to keep me company.” Beverly says, grabbing Eddie by the shoulder and drawing him closer.

 

“Well hey there, Eddie.” Richie smiles. “Some of the boys are going for drinks again, you two are invited.” 

 

And so Eddie and Beverly end up at one of the player’s frat house, being handed beers. Eddie actually hates beer, but he drinks it anyway because he’s not about to be the sober man out. Eddie sits with Beverly in the living room, and watches as people wander into the house and immediately ruffle Richie’s hair, and smack his ass - a practice Eddie never understood personally. A bunch of heterosexual dudes smacking one another’s ass, in some weird way to say “Hey, atta boy!” Weird.

 

“I’m getting another drink.” Eddie tells Beverly as he stands to head into the kitchen.

 

It’s there that he runs into Richie. Well, Richie runs into him as he wanders into the kitchen for a drink himself. In fact, he startles Eddie as he turns around with a red solo cup in his hand, almost dropping the jack and coke he just poured.

 

“Oh, hi.” Eddie smiles. 

 

“Hey, Eddie.” He says. “Having fun?” He leans against the counter beside Eddie, signaling he’s about to spark up conversation.

 

“Uh, yea, sure.”

 

“So,” Richie says between taking swigs of his drink. “Is Eddie short for Edward, or is it just Eddie?”

 

“Nobody calls me Edward.” Eddie answers, both answering the question but quickly making sure nobody calls him Edward, because what 20 year old is named Edward, unless you’re a vampire with dashing good looks.

 

“Alright, so no Edward. Got it, Eds.” He smiles.

 

“I just said my name is Eddie.” 

 

“No, you said nobody calls you Edward.” Richie points out.

 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “My name is Eddie.”

 

“I don’t know, I’m more of a nickname guy.” Richie shrugs, taking another sip of his drink.

 

“Eddie’s already a nickname.”

 

“It’s not a nickname if it’s just what people call you.” Richie argues. “So what’ll it be, Eddie? Eds, Eddie Spaghetti, maybe Spaghetti Man?”

 

“So what, is Richie short for Richard? Maybe I should just start calling you Dick, because you’re behaving like one.” Eddie glares at Richie.

 

In that moment it occurs to Eddie that Richie’s actually kind of... _ hot _ . (Kind of is an understatement, but Richie’s also an asshole so he isn’t too keen with being nice). His hair is half tied up, but the rest hangs just above his shoulders. His eyes are big, brown and seemingly intense. His eyebrows frame his intense eyes in a thick, bushy veil. He has prominent cheekbones, and a strong jaw line. Fuck, Eddie’s staring. 

 

Fuck, Richie noticed. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine, if dick isn’t your nickname - although it should be - what is?” He quickly changes the subject.

 

Richie raises his cup to his lips and raises his eyebrows, not once breaking eye contact with Eddie. “Trashmouth.” He says into his drink.

 

“I’m going to need some context.”

 

“You’ll figure it out.” Richie says, smirking.

 

_ Is it just me _ , Eddie thinks,  _ or is this guy totally giving off gay vibes _ . He thinks it as Richie practically eye fucks him, his big brown eyes never leaving Eddie’s own as he continues to casually take small sips of his drink. To be fair though, Eddie doesn’t make any move to look away.

 

“So, pretty boy,” Another nickname - only this one makes Eddie’s ears heat up. “You live on campus?”

 

“What’s it to you?”

 

“I’m being social!” Richie says, exasperated as he stands a little straighter.

 

Eddie laughs, then. “Yea, I live on campus. Do you live here?”

 

“Nah, I’m not a frat guy.” He says. Eddie silently thanks the Gods. (He’s had his fair share of frat guy run ins). “I live in residency too.” 

 

Richie stands up straight, then. He’s as tall as Eddie is sat on the counter. Then he’s doing it again, the bedroom eyes, only the eye contact is different because he’s not looking up at Eddie now, he’s stood pretty well in front of him.

 

“I like your shirt.” Richie says.

 

Eddie looks down at his plain ringer t-shirt. “It’s...a t-shirt.” He mutters in response. 

 

“Yea,” Richie sighs in response.

 

“Are...you flirting with me, Trashmouth?”

 

Richie lights up a bit at the nickname and Eddie astral projects. Richie bites down on his lower lip, trying to hide his smirk before answering,  _ maybe _ .

 

Eddie raises his eyebrows while his cheeks flare up. Richie takes Eddie’s lack of visceral reaction as a green light to push his luck and leans closer, bracing his hands against the counter on either side of Eddie. Again, no negative reaction; In fact, Eddie begins to bite back a smile. Richie inches in so slowly, it actually physically pains Eddie.

 

Then, “Eddie - Oh!” 

 

Eddie looks to the doorway to see Beverly stood there, eyes comically wide. Richie makes absolutely no move to back away from Eddie, arms still braced on either side of his body, his face close enough that he was breathing the same breath as Eddie.

 

“Um, I uh, I need Eddie to walk me home…” She mutters, the corners of her mouth turning up in a shit eating grin.

 

Richie lets out a sigh and backs away from Eddie. Eddie hops off the counter, straightening out his shirt and trying to drown the blush on his cheeks. 

 

“Thanks for coming out.” Richie smiles at Bev. “You’ve got my number, right?” He asks as he pulls his phone from his pocket. 

 

“Yea, I do.” Beverly nods. 

 

Richie then holds his phone out to Eddie, displaying an empty contact screen. Eddie takes Richie’s phone in his hand (it’s a 6 plus and much too large for Eddie’s small hands). He enters his name as Just Eddie, then adds his number and places the phone back in Richie’s appropriately sized hands. 

 

“See you around.” Richie grins, waving as Beverly drags Eddie out of the kitchen. 

 

Now is the time where Eddie mentally prepares himself for Beverly to laugh at him the entire walk to her dorm. And with good reason, because the minute they’re off the frat house property, she lets out a howling laugh.

 

“We’re you really going to make out with my psych project in a frat house?!” She cries through laughter.

 

Eddie rolls his eyes as Beverly dramatically clings to Eddie’s side for support. 

 

“Is it that shocking, Beverly?” 

 

“Yes!” She shouts, smacking his chest.

 

“What was I supposed to do? He was coming onto me.”

 

Beverly stifles a giggle. “He may have been coming onto you, but you would have been coming under him.”

 

Eddie gawks and shoves her. “Beverly, that’s fucking disgusting!”

 

They bicker back and forth until they approach Beverly’s residence. She laughs and throws her arms around Eddie’s neck and gently kisses his cheek.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.” She laughs before turning to leave.

 

“Get outta my sight, Marsh.” Eddie retorts, feigning anger through a smirk.

 

Eddie then takes the opportunity to check his phone, a text from an unknown number displays itself on his lockscreen.

 

**_I had fun, pretty boy. I’ll get you one day, Eds._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that this was really self-indulgent because it was.


End file.
